Through the open interstices of this entrance the perfumed air from without wandered, diffusing a most refreshing breeze throughout the apartment. To the left I observed what appeared to be an inclined plane, the surface of which was as smooth as glass, and as white as porcelain. This glassy road led upward beyond the frescoed ceiling, until it disappeared from sight. I turned an inquiring look upon my companion, who thus replied to my silent questioning: “Thou art now, my son, standing within the walls of one of our temples dedicated to Art. This is the Palace of Delight,—the Artists’ Home! Beyond yonder curtain is the Hall of Poesy, where congregate souls so rounded out and perfected that they may express themselves in measure full and sweet; their lives are breathing, active poems of beauty and love. Yonder spiral stairway,” directing my attention to a stair-case glittering like burnished gold, at my right, “leads to the halls dedicated respectively to the gods of music, painting, and statuary, where souls attuned in harmony with those divine expressions of creative energy gather to pour forth all the hidden richness and glory of their spiritual conceptions of life.
“Yonder crystal pathway leads to the grand temple of all, where gather those poets, artists, sculptors, musicians, prophets, and sages, who are united in the bonds of sympathy and love, to compare notes, and to charm and enlighten each other with the productions of their individual minds. Thee will observe that it is up hill all the way, extending beyond thy vision, and that the road is slippery and seemingly impossible to climb, typifying the pathway over which struggling genius is forced to go, slipping here and there, oftentimes stumbling, until it plumes its wings for bolder flight, and by determined effort and perseverance wins the goal.
“The novitiate who first enters this temple dedicated to the Muses would fain ascend yonder roadway, but, finds himself unable to do so; for he must first visit each one of the halls of learning ere he attempts to enter the grand temple of Art. When he has done so, he finds no need to crawl slowly up yonder plane, but concentrating his will upon the desired spot, by the power thus acquired, mounts upward without fear, and gains the goal.
“But thou, my son, must now pass beyond yonder drapery; there thou wilt find that for which thy soul is to be fitted. Thou wilt find kindred minds, and sometime thy birth-right. I must leave thee; my work calls me away; others will teach thee the lesson of life. Farewell, and God bless thee.”
The sage vanished, and I was again alone. Curiosity and interest led me to approach and push aside the hanging velvet that obscured my sight. I did so, and beheld a vast apartment, the roof of which, fretted with lace-like tracings of golden hue, was supported by richly-carved columns of finely-veined marble. The floor was a mosaic of pearl and ivory, formed into clusters of flowers. At the farther end was a raised dais, covered with a crimson, satin-like fabric, above which, suspended from golden rods, clouds of creamy, fairy-like lace drooped and fluttered.
Upon the dais was seated the stately form of a male spirit, whose majestic-bearing, noble brow, and intelligent, genial, love-lit countenance attracted and held the admiration, esteem, and respect of the beholder. Upon either side was seated a personage, mild and gentle of demeanor, with the unmistakable mark of genius stamped upon his brow. Ranged around the dais in a semi-circle were a number of seats, filled with occupants of both sexes, all seemingly earnestly attentive to the master spirit of the hour.
The inmates of the hall were clothed in various costumes, such as their fancy suggested; but with such correctness of taste that all the colors and styles blended together in perfect harmony, and in company with their surroundings made up a superb and radiant picture, perfect in all its details. I noticed a peculiar halo of mellow light emanating from and surrounding each member of this assembly, graduating from a beautiful tint of yellow down to pearly whiteness, lighting up the features with indescribable beauty. These souls were enveloped in their own wealth of love, sympathy, and perceptive harmony.
I had but to gaze on the massive brow, thoughtful, speaking countenance, and smiling eyes of that central figure when it flashed upon me, that this was Addison,—Addison the gifted, noble and true, whose works I had ever admired, and which I considered beyond emulation. The pale, saint-like face upon the right I recognized as Cowper, the good. At the left, with flashing eye, and impassioned features, was Byron, but Byron purged of the impurities and grossness of sensual life.
I gazed around, and it dawned upon me who these people were. I saw the calm, pure features and love-lit eyes of Felicia Hemans, of Elizabeth B. Browning, of Letitia Landon, and others well-known to me from the melodious outpourings of their spirits. There were Dryden, Thompson, and Pope,—once little, misshapen Alexander Pope, now grown straight, lithe, and willowy with no discontent upon his features, even sitting at the feet of Addison, absorbing the reflected light of that stately presence.
I could not understand what was going on. I heard nothing but a low, sweet, rhythmic sound proceeding from the dais, which was unintelligible to me, though, from the interested looks of those present it was evidently not so to them. I had advanced no farther than to the inner side of the curtain, for I dared not intrude upon that celestial company. I again glanced at myself, and as the contrast between my faded, dust-worn, shabby appearance and the fresh purity and sweetness of these harmonious souls flashed upon me, together with the thought that, had I done more and been more in the past, I too might have been seated here with this angelic host, in place of creeping in like an outcast and an alien, I covered my face and fled from the apartment and the place.